PROLOGUE
Year of Our Lord 1287
Hensingham Castle, Cumbria
Seat of the House of de Reyne
“Did you seethem?”
“Who?”
“The boys!”
The excited hiss came from a young girl no more than nine or ten years of age. She was standing with a gaggle of other young girls, all of them dressed in their finest, all of them tittering with delight over the young beaux who had entered their realm. Hensingham Castle sat slightly inland from the Cumbrian coast, a windswept property that faced the sea, glorious with salt upon the wind and seabirds and the general vibrancy that came when one was near an ancient coastline. There was something timeless about it, but also something damp and fishy.
Such locales were often a paradox.
Hensingham’s granite stones had long been beaten by the gales that swept in off the Irish Sea, but it was still standing, strong and tall against the elements. On this day, as the windblew and the birds rode the drafts overhead, Hensingham was the setting for a marriage a long time in coming, one that had drawn fine houses and allies from all over the north of England. The sister of the current Lord Hensingham was marrying a de Grey in what was considered rather a victory for the aunt, who had reached the ungodly age of thirty years having never been married. But, in a bolt from heaven, a widowed de Grey brother seem to think an older wife was what he needed to manage his brood of six children, so the match, and the marriage, was swiftly made.
It had barely been a month since everything had been settled.
The young girls chirping about the boys were wards of Lady Hensingham, the chatelaine of Hensingham Castle. There were four young ladies, not including her daughter, Matilda. Matilda Eleanor Joan Julia Catherine Fernanda de Reyne, or Mattie as she had been known since birth, was smaller and less imposing than her long name implied, but she was learning to find her voice. At nearly ten years of age, she had been a rather quiet child, but her pack of young woman had forced her to learn to stand up for herself or be forgotten.
Mattie wasn’t the forgotten type.
In fact, at her age, she was already quite the beauty.
Most de Reyne women were. They had a reputation for dark brown locks and sea-blue eyes, with skin as fair as an infant’s cheek and a smile that could stop wars. That was the rumor, anyway, more than likely started by another de Reyne somewhere back in the lineage, but in Mattie’s case, it happened to be true. She had the de Reyne dark hair, long and wavy, but her eyes were the color of copper. Bright gold and brown. Coupled with her sharp mind and aptitude for languages and singing, it was a striking combination that already had more than one father inquiring about her hand for their sons.
Not surprisingly, Mattie’s father was rather choosy and that distinction hadn’t sat well with one of his visiting allies.
There was a de Vries son that wasn’t going to be pledged to the eldest de Reyne daughter and Oswald de Vries had been sure to tell his son, in a fit of rage, that he wasn’t good enough for Mattie de Reyne. Nay, Percy de Vries wouldnotbe part of the de Reyne family anytime soon. Unfortunately for Mattie, she knew nothing of it, so as she and her friends admired the many handsome young men who had come for the wedding, she was being stalked by one of them.
And she wasn’t aware.
“Look!” one of her companions called out, pointing. “The de Wolfe brothers from Berwick. See how tall and handsome they are!”
The girls began to squeal at the sight. The wedding feast was in full swing and although the hall was full of revelers, the children in attendance were essentially told to stay out of the hall. Lady Hensingham had tables set up for them just outside the door, with gaily colored canopies over head, that would keep them away from the drunkards and the bawdy songs. The young girls were standing around the corner from his area, so they could see quite plainly when the de Wolfe, de Reyne, de Royans, and de Winter offspring began to gather around. So far, there were no fewer than twenty sons and daughters from various houses, all of them between the ages of around eight years of age to fifteen or sixteen. The boys outnumbered the girls, and they were those of the group in their teen years, and they very much resented having to sit at the children’s tables at a wedding.
Patrick de Wolfe’s sons seemed to be the most vocal.
Evidently, the eldest one, Markus, was in the hall because he was over the threshold of being considered a man, leaving the younger three brothers and their two sisters outside. Paired withtheir cousins, Ronan de Wolfe, son of Blayth, and Gareth “Gar” de Wolfe, son of Troy, they made for some young lady eye-candy.
“I am going to marry Cassius de Wolfe,” one young woman sighed. She was fair and lovely, from the Summerlin family of Norfolk. “Do you not think he is handsome?”
She was pointing to the tall lad with the dark, curly hair. The young ladies with her nodded emphatically. “So handsome,” a lass with the surname of de Allington said dreamily. “So are his brothers. Magnus and Titus are remarkably handsome. I’ve heard their grandfather is a Dane king!”
That was impressive and the tittering young women agreed that, surely, that must be why they were so handsome. But Mattie was fixed on one of the cousins.
“I like the blond boy,” she said, gesturing. “I believe he is called Ronan. Do you think he will sit with me at sup?”
That question had every young woman’s heart swelling with hope. Romance was heavy on their minds as Mattie’s older brother suddenly appeared.
“Break up your little hen gathering,” Maksim de Reyne said, walking right through the middle of their crowd. “Stop hiding and come and sit.”
Mattie frowned at her bossy brother. “I am going to tell Mama on you, Max,” she scolded. “You cannot tell us what to do.”
“I can and I will.”
